


Something Wicked

by Sunsinourhands



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Shoujo AU, shoujo bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunsinourhands/pseuds/Sunsinourhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Influenced highly by dofensphinx(AO3)'s Shoujo AU. Set after Nuke-em-high(tumblr)'s I Didn't Ask For This.</p>
<p>Earth is very different than it used to be. Aliens have settled on the planet, and have become the new repressed minorities. Humans have all the privilege, the wealth, and the law on their side. For the most part, Earth's law enforcement is content to look the other way when alien citizens, and illegal immigrants, face trouble. Freeza counts on it, especially when it comes to his illegal fighting industry. </p>
<p>There is another minority that has just begun to show its face. They've lived on Earth just as long as humans have, and have influenced history for as long as there has been history. Every culture has a fairytale about witches. However, people would be very surprised to find that some lived in their neighborhoods--right alongside their alien neighbors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1000 Years of Servitude, Bound to His Own Skull Via Occult Power.

Freeza didn’t have a singular interest in fights. Variety, after all, was the spice of life. And, like other members of the Cold family, he had fingers in easily a half-dozen pies. One of those included legitimate businesses. The pink alien couldn’t resist a good opportunity to pull one over on a rich young heir and pile up the fortunes of their families. After all, the young masters and ladies of the city always had doting parents willing to do anything, anything, to bail out their precious children. Whether or not they were able to dig their progeny out of that hole was fine enough. Freeza didn’t mind having a string of debtors who owed him. In fact it made him smile. It helped him sleep at night. And it certainly didn’t hurt that it was a diversion from the fights and other high-violence activities. Sometimes watching utter despair wash over someone’s face without anyone touching them was better than the wet snap of bone.

For attracting such targets, Freeza owned a number of trendy cafes. On occasion, he even liked to stop in himself. He spent most of his time in the dark-wood paneled back office, watching the cameras and sipping his wine while he attended to business via a laptop. 

It was a sunny day, quiet. All of the numbers on his fighting rings were looking adequate, if not good. No problems with law-enforcement. After all, Earth’s law enforcement seemed to care little for the alien populations. That sort of lackadaisical attention was what let Freeza and the rest of his family do what they did in the first place. Still. 

He swirled a dark wine in his glass, staring at the glittering liquid idly. He had work to do, but would have appreciated a diversion. There was a bait dog Saiyan in one corner of the room trying to sleep, and Freeza wasn’t in the mood to kick puppies just at that moment. Even that got old from time to time. And that one would just bleed on the carpet. 

Out of the corner of one eye, Freeza spotted a trio of high-school aged girls in fancy school uniforms stop into the cafe through the security cameras. He smiled. He could do the math. There were only a half-dozen private schools left in this part of the country in this day and age—all of them filled with young scions of the powerful, wealthy, and famous. And here were three little lambs, naïve and sheltered. The pink alien waited until they were seated in a booth, and watched his marks through the cameras. 

Mark One was the shortest of the three—with a tidy bob of dark hair and glasses. Mark Two was a taller girl with curly black hair. Mark Three walked in holding Two’s hand—a pale creature with a splattering of freckles over her cheeks and straight blond hair. There was a bandage over her eyes. The other two read the menu for her. Oh. So she was blind, and it wasn’t just a fashion statement. The uniforms were strange, too: all black skirts, socks, shoes, and blouses with a white kerchief and piping. Human fashion. How precious.

It was almost too easy.

After the food and drinks were delivered, Freeza left the back room and his wine and sauntered over to their table with a picture-perfect grin painted onto his face. A few members of staff practically tripped over themselves to move out of his way once he left the back room. 

“How is everything, ladies? Is it all to your liking?” He asked.

To their credit, neither of the dark haired girls seemed surprised at his appearance. The blond continued facing forward, as if she were staring straight through the wall behind those bandages. Of course. Blind. 

A wave of murmured ‘yes’s and ‘thank you’s passed around the table. Then the small talk. Did they stop in on the way home from school? Oh, as something different than normal? Oh, of course. It was sometimes good to try something new to keep life interesting. But wouldn't they like to try something fun to pass the time? Perhaps a game of chess? To make it extra interesting, how about placing a friendly wager on the outcome? 

Sure, why not? That sounded more interesting than normal chess. 

Morgan had never been even passably good at chess. She knew how the pieces moved, but otherwise had no interest in the game. But, Ceredwen lived and breathed games like chess and go. Unfortunately for him, Freeza was a self-described connoisseur of the Saiyan race, but he had never met a witch. So it wasn't his fault that he couldn’t recognize generations upon generations of very careful breeding for psychic talent when three prime specimens walked into his cafe. In addition to that, he made several assumptions that ruined him that day. 

First, Freeza assumed that Ceredwen held hands with Aradia due to Ceredwen’s blindness--not because they were in a very close and very Sapphic relationship. Second, Ceredwen didn't cover her eyes because of blindness, either. Rather, it was that her eyes looked like someone had scooped out the universe and left two perfect windows into the void in their place. They were all dark and mired orbs without even white in the sclera--only the pinpoint of occasional, distant stars. And that tended to bother people who were not raised to appreciate that particular variety of beauty. Ceredwen could see just fine, even through the bandages.

Third, all three young witches also knew a hustle when they saw one. They also thought it was rather rude of Freeza to attempt to pull one over on them. Ignorance of witches was no excuse for that sort of behavior. Really, there was only one thing to do--take him for all he had on him at the time. After all, there were plenty of things that a young witch might like to buy in the wide world, and all three of Freeza’s guests were reluctant to request an increase in their allowances. Fortuneteller Baba would tell them to make it on their own. So they would. 

Morgan took point. The bespectacled girl best poker face, and had an innate ability to look as harmless as a kitten. Maybe it was the bob. Maybe it was the fact that she was just barely tipping the scales at 5’3’’ and was naturally cute with large brown eyes and delicate features. 

Ceredwen played chess, adjusting her skill to draw Freeza into the false impression that he was up against a beginner while still winning enough to keep the game going.   
Aradia relayed Ceredwen’s psychic instructions to Morgan and also did her best to play the part of a nervous friend who wanted to go home. 

It was mid-way through game six before the small alien caught the scent of something not being quite right. For one, the three girls continued to fit to his imaginary script. They shouldn’t have been a problem. But, the girl with glasses always pulled the match to her victory by the skin of her teeth. Every time. She seemed just as surprised as he was, too. So far, he was down an insignificant amount of money--at least to someone like him. But, he wasn’t walking away with anything he wanted. His frustration reached a point where the other mundane patrons could sense it in the air, and soon the cafe was empty aside from the staff, the witches, and the small crime lord.

The open sign swung to ‘closed’ on the front door, and the staff retreated behind the counter. Classical music piped into the room, a piano and violin piece now crooning loud and clear without the garble of numerous conversations to drown it out. Hot coffee and cake from the counter filled the air with a subtle sweetness now that the door didn’t open and close with every patron. 

No. Freeza reminded himself, eyes peering back and forth across the now nearly-empty cafe. This was just dumb luck. Freeza knew he could still walk away from this a very happy man.

“How about we wager for something a little more interesting than pocket change?” He suggested. 

Morgan cocked her head to one side, and then re-adjusted her glasses. 

“Like what?” She asked. 

A thousand years of servitude while bound to his own skull via occult power? No. Wait. That was illegal these days, wasn’t it? There were only maybe a dozen of those left amongst the witch population’s vast collection these days, and those had been grandfathered into legality hundreds of years ago. But, Morgan didn’t say any of that. 

Instead, Morgan watched Freeza fiddle with a rook in one hand. She watched him smile. Naturally, Freeza knew that he’d win. He’d taken a few steps backwards, but this sort of dumb luck couldn’t hold out forever. But, wouldn’t it be fun to shake up the young ladies a little? Freeza turned to the back. 

“Choi!” He shouted.

A heartbeat worth of silence. And then, the sound of scampering from the back. Choi, as it turned out, was easily over six-feet of bruises and infected cuts. His hair was a rat’s nest that could have hosted a hawk, and his dark eyes shifted anxiously between Freeza and the three high school students sitting at the table as he shuffled behind Freeza. Normally he wouldn’t be out in a place like this, in the view of ‘customers’ as it were. But, there was no way he was going to risk the penalty for disobedience. 

Freeza steepled his fingers, black lipstick shining. 

“Choi, dear, I’ve been having a grand time with these young ladies. We’re having a bit of a friendly wager over chess. If Miss Morgan here wins, I’m afraid that you’ll be going with her. But, if I win--”

“I suppose that I’ll take on a debt of equal value,” Morgan said. 

Bingo. 

Choi grimaced through an angry red swelling around a cut on his face. No. No. He would never say anything, especially since the Saiyan would only put himself into more trouble if he did.   
Chess figures lined up on the board. 

“Morgan, we need to go home after this. We’ll get in trouble for staying out too late,” pale Ceredwen said from the table. Translation: Let’s Finish Him. 

The smallest customer, with dark hair so straight and tidy that Choi had no doubt he was looking at a human despite her similar coloration to a Saiyan, turned to look at the clock on the wall. 

“You’re right,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t want to keep you young ladies waiting. How about a game of blitz chess then? It’s very similar, but we’ll each only take five minutes to make our total number of choices,” Freeza offered. 

Like clockwork, two chess timers seemed to appear on the table and the staff once more cowered behind the counter.   
“That sounds very interesting,” Morgan said. 

Freeza pushed a button on his clock, and the match began. 

Seven minutes later, Aradia, Ceredwen, and Morgan walked out of the cafe and bid Freeza a good evening and thanked him for such an entertaining afternoon. Morgan held open the door for Choi to follow. Choi squinted, eyeing up and down the street. 

Inside, the smile melted off of Freeza’s face. He pinched a knight between his fingers until the marble splintered and the figure crumbled onto the table in a small pile of dust and rock. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Baba is going to be upset,” Ceredwen poured a steaming hot tea into a delicate china cup, and added, “You know there haven’t been any men in this house for several hundred years, now.” 

Choi, the man in question, had taken up residence in the far corner of the kitchen. He balanced on a stool, discomfort apparent as he flinched away from the cloth wet with disinfectant Morgan dabbed against his forehead. His eyes flashed around the oak kitchen--complete with gothic arches carved into the cabinetry. 

Truthfully, Choi wasn’t sure what bothered him the most: the red-hot fear in his gut whenever Morgan’s hand moved close to him, or how all of the empty space and echoes in that house dropped ice into his belly. While the Saiyan hadn’t seen many movies and knew nothing of architecture, he knew that the dark, gothic victorian home that these girls lived in looked like something out of a set designed by Tim Burton.

Choi flinched away again, whatever was on that cloth made his wounds sting and burn. But he wasn't about to ask questions. He had been born as Freeza Cold’s dog, and wasn't sure what purpose the small human would have for him. Above all, Choi was certain that asking questions would lead to nothing good. 

Morgan dug through a box with a red cross on the front. She took out a few items, placing them on the counter next to the box. A handful of glass bottles with weird creams and liquids inside. Two rolls of some thin and white fabric with a loose weave. Choi’s hands shook as he gripped the oak stool he sat on. 

“I’m sure I’ve done worse,” Morgan said, biting her lower lip in focus as she dabbed a pale green salve on the infected-looking cut on Choi’s face. 

Choi wasn’t sure if he made a noise or not. His mind was flashing in questions about what might happen to him next, and each of the possibilities was worst than the previous. His head felt light, like it was just going to float right up through the ceiling. And his palms were already coated with sweat. The girls in black kept talking, but he had trouble keeping track of it. His tail twitched in quick, anxious movements. Then, he caught the word ‘left-overs’ in the middle of another sentence he couldn’t quite catch the meaning of. 

“I’ll fill in Baba before she gets in here. We should at least say something before she sees a strange man in the house and starts flipping out,” Aradia sighed, twisting a thick lock of curls around her index finger before asking, “Do you need someone to run by the store to grab some more clothes for him or what? He can’t go around like that. Baba won’t stand for it, and I certainly won’t even if you would.” 

Morgan reached into a hidden pocket in her uniform skirt and handed a wad of crisp bills to Ceredwen. The pale girl grinned and began counting out each of their shares. Three hundred, four, five, six hundred and fifty apiece. 

“Morgan, you can keep some of my share to take care of him. I just know you’re going to pay me back in entertainment, so I don’t mind,” Ceredwen started giggling as she passed a hundred into Morgan’s pile on the kitchen counter. 

“Can you use it to buy some clothes for Choi, Ceredwen? And some shoes, if they even carry his size,” Morgan added after a thought. Choi seemed to be doing poorly, making quite fearful noises as Morgan did her best to bandage his visible injuries. 

“You got it. But, no guarantees on color or style. Our shops won’t have anything in his size, so I’ve got to go to the mundane side. I bet it will all be very, very ugly,” Ceredwen said, pocketing her share and the amount Morgan set aside for clothes and then walking out of the room. Her giggles echoed down the hall. 

Aradia hauled a cast-iron pot out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove-top. She then turned on the heat, grabbed a bowl and spoon, put them on the table, and then left. 

“Normally I’d say you owe me for this. But, I think today’s take was enough for something nice, so I’ll let it slide,” Aradia smoothed her curly hair away from her face, and grabbed her tidy stack of bills before leaving the kitchen.

“Something you already have in mind?” Morgan asked. 

“Sure is. Mama needs a new face moisturizer that comes with a gold spoon, and some blush pressed into the shape of rose petals,” Aradia said. 

Choi’s attention didn’t focus back in until there was a bowl in front of him. There was some kind of soup in it--but it didn’t matter. His dark eyes flashed up, and then back down to Morgan’s face looking for permission. Morgan put a spoon into the bowl, and said something. Choi didn’t need the spoon.


	2. A Punishment as Terrible as the Night is Dark

“There is a what in the house?” Baba said it like she was talking about a raccoon. 

“A man, Baba. Morgan won him in a bet,” Aradia leaned against the front door, re-counting out her take from the afternoon’s activities. 

“What did you girls do? Knock over a casino? They should have known better than to let you three in there,” Baba sounded like she would not have doubted if Aradia said they spent the afternoon doing just that. 

“Nope. Private affair. Member of the Cold family, I think,” Aradia replied.

Baba swore and slapped her forehead with her hand. The crystal ball she sat upon stopped in the middle of the air. 

“Horseshit. This is why I know you three are the worst. I don’t understand your generation. Well, Morgan had better keep up on taking care of him. He’s her responsibility now, and I’m not going to let her forget it for a second. Now I’ve got to spend my valuable time thinking of something suitable for the consequences,” Baba grumbled, floating into the house.   
At least a man wouldn’t breathe fire. Probably. 

Now, how to go about this? Baba disappeared under the extraneous wrinkles caused by her frown as she considered her options. Screaming Morgan’s name and demanding to know what was this nonsense about bringing a man into a witch’s house was a classic. But, then the neighbors would find out about it, and Fortuneteller Baba would not abide mundanes knowing about their business and putting their judgements upon this family. Oh no. 

Baba went with Looming on this one. She floated through the house, silent as a stalking cat, until she came to the kitchen. There, she saw Morgan tiding the first aid kit while a wild-looking man with face and arms covered in bandages inhaled a bowl of soup. All three of the young witches had lined up their backpacks against the far wall of the kitchen, as usual. At least they hadn’t forgotten. The pink-haired witch prepared her most disapproving face. 

“Morgan. Yaga. Would you care to tell me why there is a man in the kitchen?” Baba would have drummed her fingers on something to make a good sound effect, but she couldn’t reach something suitable. Instead, the shadows in the kitchen elongated and began taking on worrying points. 

“Because we don’t have a larger allowance, so we’ve got to get pocket money the old-fashioned way,” Morgan replied, adjusting her glasses with a small smile. 

Baba’s frown deepened, and she turned her eyes on Choi. 

A chill ran down the Saiyan’s spine, and he paused mid-gulp on his bowl of soup. There was an old woman in the room now. The old woman was tiny, perched upon a floating ball of some kind and holy flaming shit it was like she was looking right through him. But, as quickly as she had turned to him, the woman turned her terrible, cutting gaze back to Morgan.   
“He’s your responsibility, one-hundred percent. You feed him. You take care of him. He sleeps in your room. He seems the nervous type, and I won’t have him wandering around at night getting into storage,” Baba handed down her sentence before turning and floating out of the room again. 

“Dinner is at the normal time. And I’m going to take my sweet time thinking up a punishment for this, Morgan. It will be as terrible as the night is dark,” she said, back still turned to the kitchen. 

Once Baba was gone, Choi turned his eyes back to Morgan. He was sweating again. 

But, Morgan didn’t seem to be anticipating a terrible punishment. Instead, she took off her glasses, cleaned them with a handkerchief, replaced the glasses on her face. 

Then she said, “I think that went well. How many blankets do you sleep with?” 

Choi couldn’t help the face that he made--a mixture of pure confusion and disbelief. He wanted to know how was it that all three of the uniformed young women were so familiar and casual with one another. It was almost as if they didn’t hate each other. Freeza and his brother, Cooler, were always at each other’s throats in a metaphoric if not a literal sense. How was it that this old, floating woman was chiding Freeza’s replacement? The Saiyan got the distinct feeling that he was floating, without any ground to stand on. Thus, he could only answer the question that had been asked of him while the rest of his thoughts grasped for something, anything familiar. 

“I...don’t,” he mumbled, nearly under his breath. 

“Oh! Well, I’ll get something just in case. The house can get chilly at night,” Morgan said. 

The way she said it made Choi itch. Morgan seemed to pick up on it. She looked at the ground for a few moments before sighing and looking back at Choi. 

“I’m sorry. We usually stick to our own, and it hasn’t been until recently that we started integrating with others. In the end, you got caught up in us screwing around,” she said. 

Choi nearly choked on his own tongue. 

“N-no. You don’t need to--to someone like m-me,” he stuttered. 

Morgan watched Choi’s attempt to somehow make himself smaller. Maybe. Maybe this had been a poor decision. Baba always said to keep a lid on listening to thoughts, or even letting people know that she could do it. So...what to do without that? 

“I’ll show you the room you’ll be sleeping,” Morgan settled on saying. 

“Follow me. Otherwise you might get lost. If you have any questions, it’s fine to ask Baba or me or Ceredwen or Aradia. But, Ceredwen and Aradia will probably bullshit you a little, if I’m being honest,” Morgan said. 

Choi followed Morgan through the house, up a huge flight of winding stairs. In what seemed like the main upstairs hall, the walls were covered with crowds of painted portraits in heavy frames. All of them were women in an array of colors and clothing that spanned hundreds of years in fashion. It felt like they were watching Choi. Was it beyond paranoid to feel like paintings were capable of intimidation? Better not to think about it. Better not to think about it. It became Choi’s new personal mantra. 

Then the door swung open. Choi almost had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the door frame. Everything inside seemed old. If Choi had known any history, his mind would have been blown at the near-ancient gothic victorian bed frame, including bed curtains. It wasn’t like anything was in poor condition. Quite the opposite. Desk and chair. A lamp shaped like a flower. Small sofa. Rugs. Elaborately-carved bookcases. Everything in there was dark with love and careful preservation. There was a sense of legacy with everything, like it had its own history and had passed through so many years that time itself left a patina on each item. There were a few more doors leading out of the room. 

“Go ahead and make yourself at home. I need to grab some things from storage,” Morgan said and then shuffled back out the door. 

Choi listened to her footsteps continue down the hall. 

That’s when one of the biggest oddities about this place finally hit him. He was the only man in the house. Yes. That was right. They--they had said as much. But, the Colds always separated everyone by gender. Since he was just a bait dog, Choi was never even in consideration for breeding. The only women he had ever seen were customers, and even then he had only seen them for a few seconds and from quite far away. He couldn’t look at them too much, it was rude for someone as low-calibre as him to even--wait.

The entire room smelled like woman. 

Choi’s train of thought derailed into a fireball of wreckage. But, only for a moment. No. No no. It wasn’t that complicated. Morgan owned him. Morgan was his master. Nothing else was relevant. Satisfied with the simplicity of it, Choi let out a breath in relief. It was easy. Everything was fine. 

Weird, though. He remembered Morgan saying something about how her ‘kind’ had not integrated with the population at large. But, Morgan was human, right? Choi knew that Saiyans looked very close to humans, and could sometimes even pass as them. He didn’t know of any other species that could pass so easily as humans. It left him wondering. Just for a moment. It wasn’t proper for him to wonder about that sort of thing. Even if Morgan was so indulgent as to allow him to ask questions, at least for the moment, he couldn’t push that.

He drew a hand to his face and pressed his fingertips against the most swollen wounds on his face. They didn’t hurt as much as before. Maybe because of the weird stuff his new master put on them? Careful. Better not get used to getting spoiled like that.

It was too quiet. It didn’t dawn on Choi until he noticed his tail twitching back and forth. His jaw was also sore from clenching it in anxiety. Back at the barracks, everyone was always crammed in. He didn’t. He’d never done anything by himself for as long as he could remember. And now it was quiet enough to hear his own breathing. There were so many rooms in this house. So many rooms. Most of them were probably empty. 

If he was bad, maybe he’d be locked in one. 

His heart rate skyrocketed and his throat felt like it might close up. Maybe that’s why he was alone. Maybe he had already done something bad and--

The door opened, the latch so loud against that awful silence that Choi jumped nearly a foot in the air. Morgan fumbled a pile of quilted comforter, several pillows, and sheets into the room. On top, there was a shoebox. 

Everything went onto the couch in a giant pile, and Morgan brushed some dust from her uniform before taking the shoe box off the pile. 

“We’ve only got a little bit of time after placing it before it’ll grow. Where do you want it?” She asked. 

“Anywhere is fine,” Choi rushed out the words, scuttling over. 

Gods. Even if he got in trouble for getting too close, he couldn’t handle the empty room right now. 

Morgan made a small noise, deciding not to press the question. She opened the box, taking out a miniature bed--complete with mattresses, and placing it on the floor. Then she backed up, standing by the wall with Choi. The Saiyan picked at a scab on one hand as he waited--but not sure for what. 

Then, the miniature burst to full size with a cloud of smoke and a rattle. Like a startled cat, Choi’s tail puffed to nearly thrice its normal circumference as he lept back. Morgan made another quiet noise as she took ahold of the bedding and began making the bed. 

“That seemed like it took longer than usual. I should tell Baba to look them all over,” Morgan muttered in the process. 

In the end, Choi’s bed was perpendicular to Morgan’s both near the far corner of the room from the hall entrance. Although, Morgan’s bed was much larger, and looked older. But, Choi thought, that was definitely to be expected. It made sense--even if it was far larger than the cot Choi usually slept in. When no one else wanted to fight for it. It wasn’t long before Ceredwen visited, a few shopping bags in tow. She dropped the full bags just inside the room before pulling a black school bag off her shoulder and turning to Morgan.

“Tried my best. Also brought up your bag, since you’ll probably be doing your homework in here. What did Baba say?” Ceredwen asked. 

“Thank you. I believe my punishment will be as terrible as the night is dark,” Morgan replied as she moved away from the freshly-made bed. 

Ceredwen laughed. Her cheeks turned rosy pink. 

“Got off easy, huh? Lucky. Lucky. See you at dinner,” she finally choked out between giggles, and then left. 

Morgan picked up her school bag, black leather with some kind of elaborate symbol on the front, and then moved over to a heavy-looking desk. 

“Go ahead and check out the clothes Ceredwen got. Dinner isn’t for a few hours, and I’ve got homework. So if you can pretty much do whatever you want until then. The bathroom is over there,” she said, and inclined her head towards another door. 

Choi bit his lip, picking at the scab on his hand again. His tail was back to a normal size, but he wasn't going to forget that shock for a long time. He didn't want to get anything dirty, either. Morgan had a lot of nice things and he had dirty shoes, and his ill-fitting clothes were a mess of grime and dried blood. It took several minutes of Choi shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot and fidgeting before he finally gathered the courage to ask a question.

“Can I, I mean someone like me really sleep on…” He couldn't complete the sentence.

Morgan turned from emptying her school bag onto the desk. 

“Yes. It’s your bed now,” she said. 

“Even though I'm dirty?”

“You can take a shower after dinner. And I can always change the sheets and the pillow cases. It's fine as long as you take your shoes off.” 

It took another several minutes before Choi mustered the guts to take off his shoes and socks and touch the bedding. Then he tested that a half dozen times and only then, without receiving punishment for touching something so nice, did he brave sitting on the bed. 

When Morgan looked back from her desk, she only smiled, and then turned back to her work. By the time Choi crawled on top of the sheets and comforter and laid his head on the pillows, Morgan had taken out a few notebooks. She got up for a reference book from one of her bookshelves once, but that was it. 

Choi watched, paranoid that Morgan would change her mind. His eyes grew heavy. It was so comfortable, he almost couldn't believe it. Maybe he would just close his eyes. He'd still hear if Morgan got angry. The Saiyan listened, but only heard Morgan quietly mutter to herself over whatever work she was doing. The pencil or pen scraped against the paper like another whisper. That was an elites for you, reading and writing, Choi thought as he drifted into an exhausted sleep. 

Morgan turned from her work when she could no longer sense the chatter of rushing thoughts from Choi. That guy was a huge mess. Six and a half feet of mess. Under the current wounds on his face and arms there was plenty of scar tissue underneath. And yet he was more like a frightened and jumpy kitten than a fighter. Just what had she gotten into?

Still. As Fortuneteller Baba’s apprentices, their divination was pretty accurate. So Morgan and the other witches had known that they should show up at the cafe that day after school. But, which had been the important meeting? That Freeza character, or Choi? 

Maybe Baba was right. Maybe Morgan was too soft. 

In the end, she had heard a small part of Choi wish to go somewhere, anywhere away from Freeza--if such a place existed. Listening in on thoughts was rude. But, Choi’s could be so loud! In the end, when Freeza made the bet, it all just fell into place. Morgan couldn't leave Choi there. Baba’s punishment also sounded like it was going to be lighter than for just rule breaking. This was the sort of thing that necessitated making up new rules. So that was disproportionate enough to make Morgan wonder. Hopefully she had made a good decision. 

She kept quiet to let Choi sleep until the grandfather clock in the front hall chimed seven. Probably, he wouldn't want to miss dinner.


	3. I Forgot that Your Kind was a Pain in the Ass

Dinner took place in another large room, with a single giant, darkwood table that stretched at least fifteen feet across the floor. There were several serving dishes all piled high with delicious things. It wasn’t even until Choi had shoved half a bread roll in his mouth that he noticed there were fancy forks and knives and even plates. Fancy plates. At some point the old woman, Baba, told Choi to at least use the fork and knife while he ate. He made an effort at cutting things into a few rough hunks before inhaling them. Choi wasn’t even sure what any of the food was. The important thing was that it was all hot and delicious, there was a decent amount of all of it, and no one was fighting him for it. 

Choi didn’t take any notice of how much the others ate. He was far too occupied with moving as much food into his own body at the quickest possible pace. It was only until he stuffed himself to a stomach ache that he looked around the room again. His stomach almost cramped in protest. Worth it. Even if his stomach protested against how much he ate and the speed, he wasn’t going to regret it. Who knew when he’d eat like that again?

The others in the room chatted back and forth, although none of it struck Choi as relevant to him. 

Still. He had to wonder. Why did he get to sit at the table with these people? No one got mad at him, and he thought he remembered getting told to sit there. Stomach still full of both food and complaints, Choi fidgeted in his chair. 

Baba’s icy stare slid to Choi once more. 

When the old woman started speaking, Choi nearly jumped out of his seat--expecting punishment. But, all she did was explain the daily routine of the household in a voice that would have been better suited to reading off a hellfire and brimstone sermon. Breakfast was at nine thirty in the morning on Monday through Friday. Aradia, Ceredwen, and Morgan left for school at Ten o’clock sharp. Lunch was at noon. The ladies returned from school around half-past four in the afternoon, Monday through Fridays. If Choi wanted food at other times, he’d have to make it himself. More about dinner’s schedule, and the weekend schedule. 

Choi could only file away that information numbly, fingertips tingling from the rush of adrenaline. He did remember that the old woman said that since ‘their kind’ did not have to toe the line for federal education requirements that their school days were shorter. Baba also said that while the young ladies were at school, he would help Baba with household tasks. He’d also better pipe up if any of those injuries bothered him, since Baba would not be pleased if she had to take him to a hospital. No nonsense past ten at night. After all, Baba needed her beauty sleep. 

Choi had a shower shortly after dinner ended. Bathing alone made Choi shiver. It was too quiet. Everything about that house was. 

But.

But, Morgan sat behind Choi and coaxed the knots out of his messy mane of hair for twenty minutes afterwards with a comb. That made Choi shiver, too.  
Halfway through the evening, Morgan took her own bath. Afterwards, Choi watched her eye through magazines or sketch on paper out of the corner of his eye. Once, Aradia visited, asking Morgan her opinion on something about cell phones. 

Even if Choi couldn’t tell time well on the antique grandfather clocks sprinkled through the house, each of them chimed out the hour. Ten o’clock arrived. The lights went out, Morgan commenting that she was more tired than usual that day. And thus, Choi climbed under those blankets that were far too nice for him once more. He strained his ears to listen to the familiar noises of other sleeping forms, and only found Morgan’s breath. But, between the lessened pain on his wounds, and his full belly, even that was enough to lull the Saiyan into a deep sleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

For the second day in a month, the young witches took a detour on the way home from school. The wrought-iron gates of the school gave way to the rest of the closed-off Witch District. Soon, that too gave way to the public streets and shops. 

Raised by the famous Fortuneteller Baba, all three young women had a measure of skill in divination. There was just one problem with their current level of divination skill. Between them and a map of the city, they could tell where they needed to go, when, and if the outcome would likely do them good in the future. But, they couldn’t when something interesting might intersect their path tell more than a few days in advance, or exactly what they could expect. 

Today’s location was at an unfamiliar cross-section, but it was only a ten minute walk out of their way. The time was, again, after school until four-thirty. So the convenience alone drew the young witches off their normal schedule. They chatted while they walked. Their demeanor and mood were familiar enough to anyone watching, even if their school uniforms were unfamiliar. 

“Did it work out? He was freaking out all night, again,” Aradia said.

Morgan angled her hand back and forth and winced. 

“He slept, and he took a shower like usual. But, he’s super anxious. I can’t really leave him alone, or he loses it. I think the house is too quiet for him,” Morgan replied. 

“That was the impression I had as well,” Aradia said. 

“Is it weird that I feel kind of like an asshole for taking that bet? I don’t think he’s happy,” Morgan asked. 

“He wasn’t happy there, Morgan. And he never would be. I’m sure it will work out over time. And Baba is right, you’re way too soft,” Aradia said. 

“Way too soft,” Ceredwen echoed, giggling. 

Then the pale girl paused, looking down a small street. Her grin grew wider. She tugged on Aradia’s hand and then inclining her head towards what caught her interest. 

Very little looked like trouble like a half-dozen teenage boys loitering around the front of a flower shop in a small knot. This was mostly because, due to their cultural traditions, witches distrusted men and boys as a policy. It didn’t help that these boys, within their tight group and their overt glances back at the flower shop, didn’t look like they were in the mood to buy plants. It was the kind of behavior that might have seemed covert and cool in the middle of the group, but was obvious about its attempts to be covert from the outside. 

Aradia and Morgan looked down the street in response to Ceredwen’s prompt. Ceredwen tried to stifle her giggles with her hand in front of her mouth. Morgan frowned, glancing back at Aradia and rolling her eyes. Kids these days, the witches seemed to think, so weird about how bad they were at being sneaky and up to no good. Even though the witches, too, were legally children, at least they learned first thing how to do various acts of ‘no-good’ and get away with it. 

Given the offense against proper, sneaky, delinquency before them, and the fact that the perpetrators were high-school aged boys, Aradia, Morgan, and Ceredwen would have jumped into the scene even if the scenario wouldn’t be likely to benefit them. The fact that this was likely fortuitous was just an added bonus. 

The shop was called ‘Forget-Me-Not Florists.’ It looked like a one or two person operation at most, a small brick building with old-fashioned shingles and a faded, hand-painted sign. It looked like the sort of place that had been lovingly cared for by a gentle old lady until she passed--leaving it to the hands of someone who didn’t get the sign re-painted. 

Ceredwen spotted one or two of the huddled boys pick up a stone from the street. It was hard to tell who was who when they were so close. So then, it was vandalism? Never mind the why. Humans were petty, and stupid, and violent. So said most of their history. The witches exchanged a ripple of glances back and forth and between each other before moving forward. 

“What are you doing?” Aradia was the one who stood in front, Ceredwen just behind her and holding her hand. 

Most of the boys jumped. Apparently they were too absorbed in their secrecy that they failed to notice the witches.

“Nothing!” Several of them said. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Morgan said, adjusting her glasses. 

“Why don’t you girls just run along?” One of the boys said.

“Because saying that was rude, and it made you sound even more suspicious,” Aradia replied, dropping Ceredwen’s hand and crossing her arms. 

The conversation went back and forth to the tune of ‘get out’ and ‘fuck you, now you sound like you’re definitely up to something,’ for several minutes. Growing desperate to get witnesses out of the way, one of the boys went straight for the social pressure card. 

“I get it. You’re just hanging around because there’s a Namekian running the place. You all sluts for green dick or what?” He said. The other boys laughed. 

The problem here was that, while human girls might have felt the social pressure to avoid sounding sexually promiscuous or alien fetishists, the witches were another case entirely. 

Morgan adjusted her glasses again, light from the afternoon sun catching in the lenses for a moment. Then she started walking forward, pace slow. 

“First off, gentlemen, there is nothing wrong with being a ‘slut’. Second of all, I’ll have you know that my friends are about as gay as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous-oxide. Third, it doesn’t take anything special to be a decent person and get in the way of assholes like you--who are so wrapped up in macho-bullshit that you can’t realize just how insignificant you are,” Morgan took her glasses off her face, handing them to Ceredwen as she passed. 

“I forget, sometimes, just what a pain in the ass your kind is,” Morgan said. 

Most, if not all, of the boys gathered there were not intending to get into a fight. They weren’t the sort that would have gotten into a throw-down, especially if someone else could watch. But, if they were going to fight, they would all do so with the illusions that women were weaker than men, and that they had the numerical advantage. It would make for a cool story among the lads later, how they put some alien-lovers in their place before messing up the store. There were no other witnesses around that narrow street aside from the Namekian in the store, so there was no one to bring about any consequences for fighting with girls. 

An abandoned street, however, was also perfect for a witch. 

The quick breeze whipped through the street. The air went still, and the birds foraging around the immediate area took for the skies. Insect song fell into silence. Even if humans didn’t remember, the birds remembered. All the creatures of sky, and soil, and water remembered, and they remembered deep in their cores. 

Morgan’s shadow was the first to grow. First, it extended long past what it should have at that hour. Then it grew darker, wider, wilder. Shadows from the other two witches and the buildings then followed in kind, twisting into shapes that were still identifiable but twisting and angling in ways that weren’t quite right. Something dark seemed to fall out of the hem of Morgan’s uniform skirt--pooling into an inky mass in her shadow. 

Birds from as much as a block away fled to the air with distressed squawks. 

Morgan’s black shoes clicked on the street--suddenly loud with the absence of the white noise of the suburbs to distract from them. Suddenly, they were more about hammer falls against wood. 

Then, and only then, did the old and ancient part of those boys’ brains finally jolt them into motion. Two rocks flew towards Morgan. Two rocks paused, then stopped, then gently rolled in place in the air just in front of the brunette’s face. Morgan raised a hand to her face, to adjust her glasses out of habit. More stones shook loose from the ground, floating upwards and joining the first two in lazy spins in the air. 

“Run,” Morgan said. 

Half a dozen boys turned tail, screaming, out of that narrow street. They tripped over their friends, their own feet, nearly anything in their path. Morgan only moved three steps forward before all of the teenagers intent on vandalism had abandoned the area.

Ceredwen stepped forward, grin so wide it might have split her face in half. She handed Morgan back her glasses, giggling again. 

“Idiots,” Ceredwen said, and snorted once as she laughed. 

A few more seconds passed before all of the rocks fell back to the ground.

“They’ll call the police,” Aradia said, combing one hand through her hair to remove a leaf.

“Good, then we can have some time to work on our story. No one’s going to believe them,” Morgan said, replacing her glasses back on her face. 

“Clearly,” Aradia said. 

“If the store is run by a Namekian, that makes sense. Baba said we were supposed to play nice with them,” Ceredwen said, still grinning. 

“Oh, that’s right. Didn’t she say something about a meeting soon between herself and some of their elders? I guess this counts as being nice,” Aradia added.

“We’re doing very good so far, then,” Morgan agreed.

Some movement caught Ceredwen’s attention. She turned. Seeing a green face pressed against the window glass of the florist’s shop, the pale witch did her best to make a non-predatory smile and wave. Seeing Ceredwen, the other two witches also waved in Forget-Me-Not Florists’ direction. More movement from the inside as whoever watched ducked out of sight. 

Soon, the bugs began a few hesitant calls. Then they returned to the usual songs of spring. Then the birds returned. By the time the witches figured it was safe enough to start ‘leaving’ the police car arrived. A tall officer stepped out of the vehicle, eyeing the young witches with a clear frown and looking them up and down several times.


	4. Some Kind of Harry Potter Bullshit

Inca hated teenagers. Alright, maybe hate was a strong word. But, he had a heavy suspicion regarding teenagers, regardless of their species. It was strongest when they were in large groups, like the gaggle he saw outside the store window. They had been hanging around for nearly twenty minutes by the clock. Every once in awhile one or two of them would turn and look back through the window. Sometimes they made rude hand gestures at him or smiled in that awful way they did. 

It reminded him of Junior, which was a sore spot just by itself. But, he remembered these kids. For a week, they’d been walking back and forth in front of the shop far more often than they should have. Then this! 

The Namekian’s palms itched. He knew they were up to some kind of bullshit, but couldn’t exactly call the police. Hello, officer. I’m a huge green man at nearly six and a half feet tall, and I’m feeling threatened by a couple of kids being in front of my store. Yes, that was the kind of call that he’d make. Porunga help him. 

More than likely, they’d deface the store, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it aside from pick up the pieces. That would, of course, just encourage the little assholes. Then they’d start this little dance and, unfortunately, Inca wouldn’t be able to do much about. He eyed the precious, single Namekian plant that he kept at the cash register--his little treasure. Maybe he should move that to the back in case something happened to it. 

If he could make it through this, he’d have to talk to Kami. Or Dende. Inca was about as traditional as he could get without being a hundred years older. He wore traditional clothing: loose pants, vest, neck covering, and even a head covering. Even his shoes were of Namekian make. So, of course he was going to seek the counsel of his community’s religious leaders. Inca gripped the corner of a counter, taking hold of the potted Ajisa with his other arm. That was definitely going to the back. 

Just as the Namekian was going to move his Ajisa, he saw three human girls walk up to the assholes about to mess up the store. Oh, Porunga, had they come in to join in? No. No, there was an argument starting. Now that was something you didn’t see every day. 

Ajisa in hand, Inca walked towards the window for a better look. Three human girls, all in the same school uniform--probably some private school he hadn’t heard of. Inca could make out the conversation if he concentrated. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. Well, in some ways he had woken up expecting trouble from the group of teenage boys. But, he hadn’t ever thought that any humans would have tried to stop it. Even the police tended to avoid helping out aliens, especially if they looked like Inca did. This was definitely one for the record books. 

But, then it went from strange to surreal. 

First the birds left the area, and then. Oh Porunga, then. Inca’s jaw fell open in pure disbelief during most of the scene. Eventually, he put his free hand over his gaping mouth, half to prevent himself from yelling. He could only question what in the hell was going on over and over. 

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He must be having a nightmare. Soon he’d wake up, right? Inca pinched himself. No. It was real. This was some sort of special effects movie bullshit going on outside his store--and it wasn’t even directed against him! 

Soon it was over, and the human girls turned and waved to him in the store. Inca nearly jumped out of his own shoes, rushing to the back to put that Ajisa in a safe place after all. In the back, Inca leaned over the little blue plant as if he hoped it would offer him some words of encouragement. No such luck there. The Namekian wasn’t proud of himself. He remained in the back, hunched over his Ajisa as if he might protect it or it might protect him, until someone knocked at the door. 

Inca closed the door behind him and went back to the front. There was a human policeman inside his store, now. Filing in, so were the three human girls. 

“Is there something I can help you with, officer?” Inca asked. 

The officer looked Inca up and down. He frowned when he had to look up to meet Inca’s eyes.

“There was a bit of an altercation outside your shop. Did you see it?” The officer asked. 

“I did,” Inca answered. 

“Alright. And what happened?” The officer asked.

Was it strange that Inca felt hesitant to explain? Sure, he wasn’t being accused of anything, or being dragged off due to some some species-based profiling. But, Inca did not trust the police. It still felt like a trap. 

“There were some teenagers hanging around outside the store. There was an argument between them and--” Inca’s dark eyes flashed towards the young witches. 

He paused. 

“Some of the boys threw rocks, but then they ran off after the argument,” Inca finished. 

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say there had been some Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter nonsense going on. No one would believe him. Regardless of that, those weird human women had done more for him than the police ever had. Somehow, it felt wrong to turn them over for something he may as well have hallucinated.  
The officer grunted, and then sighed. 

“Your story matches up. Crazy fuckin’ kids said some nonsense about fuckin’ magic or some bullshit,” The officer grumbled. 

The three human women in their fancy uniforms looked at each other, and then started laughing. Inca could tell something about it was off. It was too tidy, too clean. Real laughter was sloppy, but it was genuine. 

“How weird! They seemed very weird, didn’t they?” The blond said.

“Super jumpy. Real twitchy,” The girl who looked like she was more fluffy, black curls than anything else. 

“Maybe they were high? I thought I heard about vandalism in this area, too,” The one with glasses said. 

The other two girls gasped. 

A long pause. 

“God damnit,” The officer said, then stalked back towards the door. 

“Thank you all for your testimony. I’ve got to go take care of this,” he said. 

Then he left. He left Inca alone in the store with the the three human girls. The Namekian’s palms went slippery with sweat. 

“Sorry for the trouble,” The girl wearing glasses said. 

“They shouldn’t come back,” The blond said. 

All three of them said a polite good-evening. Then they, too, left. 

Inca raced to flip the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and then retreated back behind the counter. There, he collapsed onto a stool. He spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, going over what had just happened. The birdsong from outside filtered into his hearing. All the plants remained, as ever, silent. The store was intact. It was perfectly fine. The Namekian dug his cellphone out of a pocket and dialed Kami’s number. Several rings later, the elder picked up. 

“Good afternoon, Inca,” The gentle voice of Kami only made Inca sag further onto the stool. 

“Kami. Something very strange just happened. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but all of it is true,” Inca ran a hand over his head. 

“Calm down, child. Tell me what happened,” Kami continued. 

And so Inca began a shaky recollection of the afternoon’s events. It was hard to keep on track. He kept remembering more details, and backtracked to include those. In the end, it was almost like Inca could feel Kami’s easy smile across the phone. 

“Oh, was their uniform black with white details? And a little, round hat?” Kami asked. 

“Yes! How did you know?” Inca asked. 

Kami laughed.

“I’ve recently been speaking with one of their elders. As a token of good-will I believe they offered to help us out when they could. We’re going to have an informal meeting next week with Moori and one small group of their kind. I didn’t expect something to happen so soon, and wasn’t sure how honest they would be in action. But, I’m glad they were able to help,” Kami said. 

“Kami, they’re humans,” Inca said, as if that somehow dismissed Kami’s words. 

“Not quite, my child. Although, they are certainly able to pass as such, aren’t they? Oh my. If we are the sun, they are in some ways not unlike the moon. I’m optimistic that we’ll be able to co-exist with their particular kind more than the humans. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off? I’ll explain more when you get home,” Kami said. 

\------------------------------------------

After a few weeks, the once infected wounds on Choi’s face and the rest of his body had almost healed up. The swelling on his face had gone down, too. Now he was mostly a large collection of scars ranging from puckered masses to a few tidier lines that had received some medical treatment. 

Every morning, he got up with everyone else and got ready for the day. After breakfast, he bid good-bye to Morgan and the other two young women as they went to school. Then, he helped Baba carry around gardening supplies, or supplies and tools for her various projects. Usually, the old woman told stories about the young witches, or herself when she was younger. After those chores, Choi usually took a shower. In the late afternoon, Choi would greet Morgan as she arrived home. She’d smile and tell him ‘good afternoon.’ 

If he was lucky, before Morgan settled down at her desk for homework she’d comb out his hair. Getting his hair combed was Choi’s favorite. It was enough of a favorite that every four or five days, Choi ‘forgot’ to comb out his hair. Never more often. He didn’t want to be a burden. The initial fear of Morgan had ebbed enough for Choi to start enjoying just being around someone else without the worry of having to fight. At first, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was all anxious tension. But, at some point, Choi was too exhausted to keep his guard up--and nothing bad happened. 

Morgan always started at the end of his hair. She’d comb out the ends first, gradually combing out more and more length. Choi’s hair was much wilder than Morgan’s, and it had a coarse texture. So it was never going to have a nice, tidy appearance like Morgan’s. But, it felt much better than when it was tangled. 

Choi’s dark tail swished across the floor in broad, lazy strokes. Morgan had to stand to reach the top of Choi’s head, even when the Saiyan sat on the floor. 

“Did you have a good day?” Morgan asked. 

“Yes,” It was still strange being asked that question. But, it gave Choi a gentle thrill every time he heard it. 

“I helped Baba put down the compost for the fall. She said there is going to be an important meeting soon, too, and that she’s thinking about getting some poultry” Choi said. 

Choi never got a chance to try honorifics with Baba. The old fortuneteller practically assaulted him with a ‘Call me Baba you whippersnapper!’ every time he even tried. So calling her ‘Baba’ stuck within a few days. Now he just had to stop shaking when she yelled. 

Even so, no matter how snappy the old woman was, Baba would tell Choi that he did a good job after he helped. Every day. If he didn’t do a good job, she’d take the time to show him how to instead of punishing him. And her cooking was delicious. Sometimes one of the younger witches cooked, but it was usually Baba. After all of those regular meals, Choi was starting to gain mass in the form of corded muscles all over. Good thing most of his shirts were sleeveless. 

“Yeah? I think I met someone who’s coming to that meeting today. It was really quick. Some assholes were going to throw rocks at his flower store, but they ended up leaving before they could. It was weird, though. That Namekian saw me use magic, but he didn’t even tell the police officer about it. Usually if someone sees, they say something. Even if no one believes them,” Morgan said. 

Choi nodded, throwing off Morgan’s combing a little. He had seen magic since coming to the house. It only further cemented in Choi’s mind that Morgan and her family members were super strong. Even though Morgan often talked about how she was just a student, Choi knew better. She could do impossible things, he knew. After all, the three younger witches had beaten Freeza. They were strong, and super smart. Just from watching Morgan do her homework, Choi knew that she could read and write in at least three languages. Talk about the elite! 

Sometimes Baba talked about Choi learning his letters. It seemed like a waste of time on someone like him. But, it was very flattering of her to say. Choi was content with his place. It was already too much happiness for him.

“There you go,” Morgan said, finishing off Choi’s hair.

“We should probably go shopping for new clothes for you, soon. Probably we should just go to a tailor in our district so it’ll fit right. Maybe this weekend,” Morgan added. 

The Saiyan was physically threatening to rip the seams on some of his clothes. But, he didn’t seem to notice. Geeze. The seamstresses were going to have to do some digging to find patterns and designs suitable for Choi. There were the...social implications of someone like Choi hanging around Morgan as close as he did. But, Morgan didn’t mind. If that gave the scarred man the ability to move safely within witch society, then it was fine. As someone who didn’t mind men, and probably even liked them more than she liked other women, Morgan was a bit of an oddity amongst her kind. Still, it wasn’t like the old ladies would disapprove of it. 

They said it all the time. It wasn’t the duty of the young to try to give their seniors hope. Even so, Morgan figured that they probably would look at her and feel something like that. There weren’t many of them left, after all. 

Morgan put the comb back on her dresser, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. 

In some ways, it wasn’t fair to Choi, either. No matter what the elders said, Morgan couldn’t see herself putting any pressure on the Saiyan for the sake of the elders’ hopes. It was troublesome to be in her final year of schooling, Morgan thought. She would be an adult by human legal standards soon, and that’s when the questioning looks would really start from the old ladies. So Morgan figured she had about a year left to figure something out. 

Against her original intentions, Morgan had grown weirdly fond of the giant mass of hair and muscle that was Choi. It was relaxing to listen to his breaths when she woke up in the middle of the night. His thoughts had finally settled down from an anxious, clamorous rush into something closer to what Morgan was used to. It did make her uncomfortable, how Choi seemed to think too good of her for treating him with basic decency. But, what could she do? Morgan wasn’t going to treat Choi worse. That was for sure.

The bespectacled witch grabbed a book from her school bag and put it on her desk. Surely, there was someone she could ask for advice. 

Choi nearly jumped up from his place on the floor, then clamored out of the room. Morgan could hear his heavy footsteps down the stairs. Probably he was headed to the kitchen to try to bring up a snack for her. While Morgan appreciated the gesture, it made her stomach bottom out with a strange form of sadness that she couldn’t place. It made Morgan feel cold, distant somehow. It had already kept her up at night, once.


	5. I'm Taking This Stupid Thing Off

The meeting between Baba and a few of the more liberal Namekian elders was scheduled for the evening. In the end, Baba had to call ahead to the compound and explain that there would be an addition to their party. Morgan packed a lunch box to tide Choi over until a late dinner, and by the cover of twilight they arrived at the Namekian compound’s front building. 

Outside, it looked fairly normal--a fat dome that was popularized by Capsule Corp for quick, easy construction. There was no writing or signage. Inside, though, the hanging silks in various traditional Namekian patterns made it clear that the witches and Choi had come to the right location. Amongst the draped robes and vests in bright colors, the witches’ dark clothing stood out more than it usually did. They felt a number of stares fall on them. But, those quickly left. Feet shuffled. Most of the Namekians inside suddenly found that they were needed elsewhere, very promptly. 

Choi began sweating, fiddling with his hands and the few scabs that remained there. He bit his lip, watching the young witches and Baba for their reactions.   
All four had relaxed postures. Now inside the building and away from the prying eyes of the general public, Baba began to float in the air once more instead of walking. Morgan cleaned the lenses of her glasses with a handkerchief with owls embroidered in one corner. 

A pair of tall, broad-shouldered Namekians with grim expressions walked through a doorway. They then escorted the visitors from the front door into a room with a handful of tables surrounded by chairs. Both looked Choi up and down, eyes narrowing. But, when they watched the Saiyan attempt to shrink and hide behind Morgan, they both paused. That was a new one. Maima and Tsumuri exchanged glances, and it was apparent to both that neither knew exactly how to react. Better just not even think about it. These outsiders were strange, even by outsider standards.Then the two Namekians left through the curtained doorway, presumably to fetch their elders.  
Ceredwen slumped into one of the chairs and oozed half-way down it. 

“I wish we could have taken brooms,” Ceredwen sighed.

“We’d definitely get spotted, even after dark,” Morgan replied. 

“Yeah. Man, I hope that our district gets expanded at some point. Baba, may we go somewhere where we can fly after the school year is over?” The pale girl asked. 

Baba threw a withering glare at the blond, but settled into a chair. Her ever-present crystal ball seemed to appear on the table as the elder witch removed a glamour from it. 

“Ask me after the graduation showcase. I’m not taking you anywhere if you slack off in your last year,” Baba said. 

Morgan heaved a heavy basket onto the table before sitting down. 

“Can we go to the ocean?” Morgan asked. 

“I don’t know. Can you improve your botany skills?” Baba shot back at the bespectacled girl. 

Morgan winced and sunk into another chair. Choi followed suit next to Morgan. 

The curtain moved again, and all members of Baba’s household turned their heads to look. Four Namekians entered. The first was tall, wrinkled, and a dark olive-green with age. The second was shorter and plumper, also an olive-green. But, he had an easy smile. The third was tall, and young. He had an uneasy frown across his face, and stood in front of the fourth like a guard. The fourth was barely over five feet tall, and wore similar robes to the first. 

“Oh! Thanks for your help the other day!” Aradia said after spotting Inca. 

Inca’s eyes narrowed and a small bead of sweat formed on the back of his neck. They recognized him? So much for the assumption that they wouldn’t be able to tell him from any other Namekian. Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to this. 

Kami smiled, moving forward to sit at the table opposite of Baba. 

“Thank you for coming all this way. It is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Baba,” Kami said. 

“This is elder Moori. You’ve already met Inca, and this is Dende,” Kami continued. 

“These are my apprentices, Ceredwen, Aradia, and Morgan. And this is Choi. Due to some unusual circumstances, he’s staying with us,” Baba said. 

Each of the young witches stood and curtseyed. Choi stood up so fast that he knocked the chair he was sitting in backwards. With a luminous blush that reached his ears, Choi scrambled to right the chair before sinking back into it and looking at the ground. 

“My, what a well-mannered group of young people,” Moori laughed. 

“Dende, why don’t you and Inca get to know these other young people better?” Kami suggested. 

“A fine idea,” Baba agreed, staring at each of the young witches in turn.

“Of course,” the smallest Namekian said. 

Oh. So they were all banished to the kiddie table, were they? Aradia shrugged, getting out of her seat. Morgan and Ceredwen followed suit, along with Choi. The younger members of Baba’s household followed Dende and Inca into a connected room that matched the first. Again, they all fell into a loose circle around a table. 

Dende was the first to break the silence. 

“Elder Kami said you call yourselves...witches?” the smallest Namekian asked. 

“It’s what we are,” Ceredwen said, then turned to Morgan and Aradia.

“I’m taking this stupid thing off. We aren’t really in ‘public’,” the blond said. 

Ceredwen slid her thumbs underneath the bandage across her eyes and pulled it off, over her head. Maybe she knew, somehow, that Dende was skeptical. In a way, Inca was, too. After all, there had to be some way he had just...dreamed all of that nonsense from earlier up. It couldn’t be real. That sort of thing wasn’t possible. But, the pale blond put the first round of skepticism to rest without saying anything more. Her eyes were framed by thick, blond lashes. 

Her eyes were dark. Dark. Deep. There were no white sclera, not even a strange color to the irus. From corner to corner, Ceredwen’s eyes were an inky black, speckled with pale and shining flecks. It was like looking into the night sky on planet Namek--without any of the light pollution to block out the starlight. 

Inca opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t manage to force any noise out. 

“Feeling better?” Morgan asked. 

“Much,” Ceredwen said. 

Dende turned to Inca, who made a similar expression of confusion back.

“You...aren’t human,” Dende finally said. 

If he was being honest, Dende had just assumed that these people were a cultural minority. They looked human. They seemed human. But, he’d never seen anything like that. Suddenly, Inca’s nervousness about these people made sense. Dende had asked. But, Inca had just said he must have imagined it--whatever it was that he saw. In the end, the older Namekian had never actually told him what he’d seen. 

“We can pass pretty well as human, right? Or at at least the three of us can. Some of the others can’t,” Morgan said. 

“You really can,” Dende echoed, lacing his fingers together as he placed his hands on the table. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dende could see Choi start to investigate the contents of the basket Morgan brought with her. But, his interest was far from the quiet Saiyan for the moment. 

Dende wondered about asking a question and then decided against it. Better to be polite. 

“Our kind breeds with humans regularly, so it’s to be expected. The witch who bore me couldn’t pass, but my sire was an out-cross--a normal human,” Morgan supplied the answer to Dende’s unvoiced question, and a little more personal information than Dende wanted to hear. 

Creepy. 

Dende learned was that, like the Namekians, the witches usually kept to their own. It was only within the past generation that the elders had started making an effort at any sort of integration with the rest of Earth’s population. Still, the witches had their own schools. They had their own gated districts that even government employees were primarily banned from without explicit invitation. Apparently their existence was something of a well-kept secret within the higher-ups of the government, and several private banks. 

Still, Dende found himself remaining a tiny bit skeptical. Inca tried to pretend to be, but couldn’t quite lie to himself to that degree. 

But, the young witches seemed happy to oblige a few demonstrations of their differences from humans. Morgan sent a strawberry from Choi’s packed ‘snack’ gently spinning through the air, around the table, and then back into the basket with its brethren with nothing more than a point of her index finger. 

Then, like Inca, Dende seemed to sit back under the weight of this new information. So, then, why were they making contact with the Namekian community? 

“Don’t ask us. That’s up to the elders. But, they’ve been around for a while, so I guess that they’ve got a good reason rather than suddenly deciding to get more social,” Aradia replied.

Morgan shrugged. 

Baba was at least well passed four hundred. Neither of the young witches in that building knew her exact age. Usually they got chased around the house and yelled at if they asked. But, as a race the witches had watched the rise and fall of countless human civilizations. And now that other races from the stars were settling on Earth, a lot was changing. Or rather it was just the point in the cycle that witches needed to watch, again. Humans did everything in cycles. 

Nevertheless, the young witches had faith. And so, they listened to their elders. 

“Anyway, if you want to reach us, it should be easy. We don’t have phones, but Baba’s been talking about us getting something like that. Let us know if you have any problems,” Aradia said. 

By this point, Inca had stopped giving all of his attention to the conversation between the young witches and Dende. There was something weird about that man that the witches brought with them. Choi, hadn’t the small, old woman said? Inca was positive the guy was a Saiyan. He was covered in fighting scars and had the tail. Hell, he had more scar tissue on him than Piccolo Senior had when he was still alive. Choi was also nearly as tall as Inca--one of the few Warrior class Namekians in the compound. Inca probably only had a few inches on him in height. 

So why was this guy, covered in scars and coiled muscle, trying his best to hide in Morgan’s shadow? If he was supposed to be a guard or a warrior, he was doing an awful job at even pretending. If anything, it seemed more like he was relying on Morgan for protection. He kept glancing back at the bespectacled witch, as if worried that she would leave. Choi was also strangely quiet and his shrinking body language screamed ‘self-esteem problems’. This wasn’t a fighter. Probably, even Inca had more fighting experience or expertise. Something wasn’t right.   
Inca had to find out. 

Maybe it was his nature. Nail always said he over-thought everything, and that he hated missing information because, like Nail, he was a warrior. It was in their core to notice when something was off. Maima and Tsumuri also said that Choi was weird. So it wasn’t just Inca over-analyzing what was going on. 

Still. Somehow Choi seemed like the least threatening outsider in that entire room. Maybe Choi didn’t catch it. But, when the witch with the glasses caught him looking at her like she was his foundation, she looked-- It was the same look that Guru or Kami had in their eyes when they remembered Piccolo Senior and thought no one could tell. Like, maybe they could have done something, anything, for a different ending. They were kind. Inca knew they always hoped that both Piccolo Senior and Junior could have found more happiness and peace--even if they felt at a loss for how to provide that. So what was a kid like Morgan doing with an expression like that? 

She was a kid, right? All of the witches wore school uniforms, so they were probably minors. Morgan and Choi. They had a weird relationship. Inca knew that for sure. And maybe it was nosy of him, like Nail said. But, Inca wanted answers. At least that was a better way of acting on his instincts than punching people in the face. It was probably even a smiled-upon thing, considering how violent the previous generation of warriors was. 

Inca was so deep in his own thoughts that he almost missed the end of the meeting. The witch elder with the pink hair shouted for the younger ones, and they gave a polite good-night before leaving. By the time they left, Choi had worked his way through a picnic basket that would have probably fed three adult humans. Then they were gone, as quickly as they had arrived. 

Somehow, though, when Inca watched Elder Moori and Elder Kami come back into the room all smiles and laughs, he doubted that the witches would really, ever leave. The old woman with the pink hair. The pale blond with eyes like the night sky. The tall one with hair like a puff of dark dandelion seeds. The meekest Saiyan alive. And, especially, the smallest one with dark hair and glasses that had driven a half-dozen teenagers away from his shop. Inca got the feeling that they would never really disappear from the compound, somehow. In some tiny way, they’d always be there. 

But, that was absurd. 

Ridiculous. 

They didn’t strike Inca as bad people. But, they were definitely people who caused change. That might be worse.


End file.
